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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25174906">between bastion bourbon and forget-me-nots</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/drazias/pseuds/drazias'>drazias</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bastion (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Flower Shop &amp; Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Rucks and the Kid are badass veteran tattoo artists, Zia works at a coffee shop called The Wall, haha everyone but Zulf has a tattoo what a loser, the fact that this fandom is so small is a sin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:35:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,687</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25174906</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/drazias/pseuds/drazias</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>you ever just desperate for content because the fandom is small? yeah me too.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>The Kid/Zulf (Bastion)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prelude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dumpsterfire420/gifts">Dumpsterfire420</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>“The end of this world looks closer<br/>in eyes of them who want to repent.”</p><p>― Toba Beta, My Ancestor Was an Ancient Astronaut</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For millennia, people of all different kinds have used storytelling as a way to pass information to one another. Sometimes it's fiction. Sometimes it's not. Sometimes it’s a little bit of both. Every ample author who knows a thing or two about craftin’ a story knows that when writin’ there has to be a little truth to the words of their stories though, no matter what genre you’re writin’ for. So what’s the truth in this story? What’s it going on about? </p><p>Well, I guess there’s a lot of truth in this story. ‘Nough so that it could even be real in some time, someplace else other than the one you and I are conversing through. This here story describes a paragon of imperfection. Some could argue that it’s a tale of love. Others could argue that it’s a tale of loss. Some could argue that it’s a tale about more than just a few characters you’ll see tossed about here and there. Personally, I don’t really know what it’s about. But if I had to guess… I’d say it’s about growth. Not the normal growth or the metaphorical growth that English teachers of old and new will tell you it’s about but rather the growth of a togetherness. The development of vehemence through the people around us. </p><p>The truth in a story ain’t necessarily something that needs to be pointed out though. That’s for you, the reader, wherever you may be, to learn about and decide upon. If the author is good enough to tell their story with enough zeal and effort, the reader can feel it. See it. They can see it in the emotions in the space between the words.</p><p> I wonder if you can imagine me, putting pen to paper, hands to keys, playing out these soft words as if I were a musician at a grand piano, pouring all that I am into the melody only for the meaning to be erased by the irrelevance of that of which will inevitably be destroyed. She’s a sick lover, Time. But what do I know? All I’ve got left is her. </p><p>Nonetheless, I offer you this thought, before you read my story, learn my love, losses, and the truths and lies of which I have strung together for your entertainment. What is your truth for this story? I can only hope that by the end of this that you’ll know. I’d like to think that I already know what’s going to happen. I’d like to think that I know enough to tell you about the truths of this story. But at the end of the day, I’m just the messenger and this is just a story, real in only another time or another place, lost to the millennia. I wonder if you’ll stay awhile. Seems the only thing we’re both lacking is time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Of Curiosities and Coffee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>“Tired, tired with nothing, tired with everything, tired with the world’s weight he had never chosen to bear.”</p><p>― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The moments between the waking and The Wall was comparable to that of a one night stand after getting drunk on Cham-Pain, Zulf had decided as he gently pulled open the wooden door of the objectively best coffee shop in town. The Wall was a long-standing establishment, at least as long as it could be. Zulf wasn’t sure if it existed pre-war or not but it had existed long enough in his mind to be long-standing. The Wall was exactly what it sounded like. It was a coffee shop within a wall. Or to be more specific, it was a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop hidden within the allies of Caelondia, one of its lasting beauties. Odd how things happen like that. The Wall was infamous for quite a few reasons though there were only three important ones for Zulf.</p><p>The first reason for many was its coffee. The Wall was the one of the first of many coffee shops to open (or re-open, again Zulf couldn’t be sure but could anyone really) and for the last of everyone, it was helpful to have the small comforting warmth of what used to be but would never be the same come in a small carryout cup, blessed with the warmth of the gods love itself. Zulf had cherished the blessing of coffee when he first heard the music from The Wall down the backstreets he had decided to take after getting just a little too drunk on loneliness and taking to the streets in the middle of the night. Lulled into an agonizing sort of nostalgia, Zulf was dragged into The Wall by its entrancing music and there he found a girl similar to him in a world where so few were left. </p><p>That brings us to the second reason that The Wall was so great: Zia. Zia was the heart of the place, living and breathing new life into it when the world was so completely ruined. On weekends and during free time, she would play melodies reminiscent of a disappearing people and Zulf fell in love with every bit of the sound. He let the pain eat away at him as Zia sang like a songbird in spring. It became almost addictive and eventually, Zia noticed that Zulf was like her too and the two bonded over her tunes as Zulf continued to return night and night again to flood his mind with her sickly sweet lullabies.</p><p>And finally, the third most important reason. The third reason Zulf loved The Wall was because of its homeliness in a time where nobody felt like they were home anymore. It was styled like the old architecture of Caelondia, pre-war, and that drew many lost wanderers into its walls, seeking shelter from the storm of emotion that overcame the land after it all. Zulf was one of those wanderers and when life failed to grant him peace of mind, at the very least The Wall was there to comfort him. He approached the counter for his daily order and Zia greeted him with a smile.</p><p>“Mornin’ Zulf,” She greeted him with the typical pep in her step as she stood behind the cash register. “How’re you?”</p><p>“Morning. Doing well and you?” Zulf asked with a tired smile. </p><p>“Well, I for one and doin’ mighty fine. I’m writing a new song. What would you like?”</p><p>“That sounds nice. I want to be the first one to hear it,” Zulf chuckled. “And one coffee, black?” </p><p>“Ah yes, so the usual,” Zia laughed lightly. </p><p>She gave him a quick wink and wrote down some extra things on the order. Zulf wasn’t typically a black coffee drinker. In fact, the last time he had drank black coffee was the first time he had ever tried the liquid and that wasn’t exactly fantastic. In all reality, Zulf just believed that somehow, in some way, drinking coffee with no additions was something people more refined did. The only problem with this though was that Zulf hated black coffee with a passion. He preferred his coffee to be on the sweeter side and so through a series of events in which Zulf trying to get Zia to understand what he wanted without actually telling her aloud, the code “One coffee, black” was born and not a soul except for the two would ever know about Zulf’s secret. In all reality, Zulf’s order was a caramel frappe with extra whipped cream packed into one of those nice carryout cups that no one could really see into which was to Zulf’s contentment. </p><p>“Alright, that’ll be 5 fragments,” Zia chirped. </p><p>Zulf smiled and nodded, paying the correct amount Zia had requested of him before moving to another chair. He would talk to her more but it seemed that all the people in Caelondia liked to come to The Wall, their tired minds eased by the bitter taste of hot caffeinated drinks. Zulf sat alone, waiting for his drink quietly as he watched the faces in the shop. He listed off all the familiar faces he saw of the customers who came as frequently as he did and all the new faces of customers that he had either never seen or just couldn’t be bothered to remember. Zia was one of the many familiar faces he saw at the coffee shop. Kind and sweet, she was the face of The Wall in all its entirety, both her smile and voice catching the eyes of all who came here. The other familiar faces were of people he didn’t really know but they were oddly comforting to see. The old man in the corner that read the newspaper every day and always seemed to arrive before Zulf, the hardworking people of business, the ones causing the economy to rebuild, the young woman who always came, got 4 coffees and a bag of muffins and then disappeared out the door, leaving no trace she was ever here in the first place. It made Zulf feel normal. Hell, it made everyone feel normal. It was as if nothing bad had ever happened. Zulf got up to get his drink when his name was called and then sat back down again. He liked analyzing the faces of the people, trying to imagine where these strangers were before it all, what they were doing now, and how they ended up here. He liked their expressions, the funny little differences in their faces, their physical appearances varying between Caelondian and Ura. There weren’t many Ura anymore but every now and then one or two would come in and Zulf would feel his heart swell with a certain fondness that he couldn’t place, giving him hope that maybe someday things would be okay. There was always one face he could never place though among the crowds. </p><p>The man Zulf wondered about most out of all the odd strangers who passed through The Wall each and every day was a man that stood out among the rest of the customers that came in. It had been a week, maybe two or three (Zulf hadn't kept track) since curiosity had started coming into the coffee shop, and Zulf couldn’t help but be curious about him. He was fairly short and stocky, built like some sort of powerhouse hidden between the civilians. The stranger's hair was oddly white and his skin was dark in contrast, caramel and sun-kissed like the other working-class civilians that spent their time rebuilding Caelondia from the ground up. Zulf knew nothing about the man but regardless, something about him was intriguing. He was someone Zulf could never figure out. All the other customers had stories in Zulf’s head but for this stranger, there was nothing that came to mind. There were no clues to who this man was except for the many scars that made patterns in his skin. Zulf could imagine something up from just that but he thought everyone had scars from what happened though this man’s scars just happened to be the kind that showed on his skin and not through his eyes or his face. Each time he entered the shop, Zulf watched his movements as if the man were the prey of some sort and Zulf would watch as he walked in strides up to the counter, each movement accompanied by a grandeur that Zulf could never place. He always ordered a black coffee and a coffee cake to go with it but when he spoke, there was never any cadence in his voice. No hints to emotion, if there was any, and not even a lick of personality. He was a phenomenon in Zulf’s life and Zulf simply couldn’t understand what made him tick. As Zulf sat and tried to figure out the indecipherable stranger, the subject of his thoughts entered, pushing open the entryway into The Wall. </p><p>Zulf sighed and watched him enter, wondering if there was anything he could possibly understand about this spectacle of a being. The stranger entered and stood in line as per usual. He didn’t look around at much of anything in The Wall except for some odd trinket in his hand that Zulf couldn’t see from his position which the stranger seemed to be fiddling with for one reason or another. He wasn’t distracted at all though and as the line moved up, so did he and each step was taken in confidence that he wouldn’t bump into someone or slip up or wait too long. Zulf was curious about him, so curious that one could even say it was an obsession at this point. The man seemed to do everything without speaking more than a few words at a time. The second he got to the counter, Zia was already ringing him up and he paid and tipped her without even the slightest use of his mouth. He always came when the flow of customers started to slow in the morning and he always seemed to know exactly when the break in the flow was before the next rush. Zia began talking to him about something regarding a tattoo and he would just nod in reply or give short responses. Zulf didn’t really pay too much attention to their conversation after he realized he wasn’t going to get anything out of this about the stranger. Or at least that’s what was supposed to happen. </p><p>“So you’re checking out the Kid again?” Zia asked, appearing from behind Zulf. </p><p>Zulf stifled a scream before composing myself. “I am not. I’m simply curious,” He responded.</p><p>“Mhm,” Zia replied, the disbelief showing in her voice. “So whatcha curious about?” She inquired. </p><p>Zulf turned away from Zia and watched the stranger again. “Everything. He’s not like the other customers that normally show up here.” </p><p>“Are you sure you’re not crushing or something? This sounds a little odd if I do say so myself,” Zia teased.</p><p>Zulf groaned. “I am not nor have ever crushed on this stranger, thank you very much. What is he to you anyway?”</p><p>“A good friend. Tatted my harp guitar onto my breast. Nice guy if you ask me. Quiet but he works hard,” Zia chuckled.</p><p>“What’s his name?” Zulf asked, turning his attention back to Zia.”</p><p>“Oh, he just goes by the Kid. His coworker, Rucks, says he just hasn’t told anyone anything else except for that. I think his name was lost in the war like the rest of us.” </p><p>Zulf’s thoughts soured at the mention of the Calamity. “Unfortunate,” He replied quickly. “So he’s a tattoo artist?”</p><p>“Yep,” Zia responded. “Beautiful work too. You should check out what he does sometime.” </p><p>Zulf chuckled. “I’m not exactly one to get a tattoo.” </p><p>“I meant if you want to learn more about him. As I said, the guy doesn’t say much. You’ll learn more about him through his work than his words,” Zia stated. </p><p>Zulf nodded. “How odd,” He responded quietly.</p><p>“How odd indeed,” Zia hummed in response. “Well, I oughta get back to work. Have fun with your stalking, you weirdo.” </p><p>Zulf turned to Zia. “I am not a stalker!” He hissed.</p><p>Zia giggled before tightening her work apron and heading back behind the counter. “Somebody’s in denial.” </p><p>Zulf huffed. He wasn’t doing anything bad. He was just curious. He turned his attention back to the Kid but just as he did, the Kid walked out the door. He watched through the glass windows as he moved down the street with heavy footfalls. Zulf sighed. Get to know him through his work, huh? There was no way he’d be able to do that unless he got a tattoo. Zulf sipped his drink, finishing it off before standing off and setting off to his own job. </p><p>“Just curious,” Zulf thought to himself as he moved down the streets of Caelondia. There was nothing more to it. After all, how could one not be curious about the stranger without a name? “Lost in the war,” Zia had said. A lot was lost in the war. Zulf wondered how a name could be lost as well. Then again, the moments between the Calamity and the now comparable to that of drowning. How many things sank to the bottom when he wasn’t looking? “Too many lives,” Zulf thought. “Too many names.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Wow can't believe I've decided to actually post this shit. Im just... So desperate for more content. So desperate. If you actually read my shit writing, you must be desperate too. Best of luck.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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